Days Of His Life
by Roderica Edelstein
Summary: Seven days, spread out across the years. Seven days which tell the story of one life: the life of Gilbert Beilschmidt. Based on the rhyme 'Solomon Grundy'. PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!
1. Born on Monday

"Let me... hold him. Let me hold... our son." Her voice is weak, fading fast, and her breath comes in ragged gasps as she pleads with her husband.

"But you're not strong enough! You know that!" In his panic, the words come out more harshly than they are meant, and she flinches at the sound. Worse, the little creature in his arms is disturbed, too, by the roughness of his voice, and lets out a raw wail.

The man takes a deep breath, and – shifting the squalling infant into the crook of one arm – takes the hand that his wife is stretching out so desperately towards her child. "You must conserve your energy, meine Liebling," he says, far more gently, caressing the soft skin which beneath his fingers is fever-damp. He knows, though, that it's useless; there is nothing which can save her now, however fervently he might pray for it to be otherwise.

As if sensing this, the newborn begins to cry even harder, and will not be quietened by his father's clumsy attempts to rock him; if anything, the howls become yet more shrill.

"Gerhart, _please_..." Her voice has diminished to little more than a whisper, barely audible above the wails of her son, but she is no longer begging; frail as she is, there is absolute determination in her eyes. "I want to... see… our little Gilbert. Just once. Please… Give him… to me…"

Relenting at last – for he recognises that there is little sense in denying her this request – he places the precious bundle in her outstretched arms, planting a kiss on her burning brow as he does so. And immediately the crying ceases.

She smiles as she looks down at the baby – a strange child, pale-skinned and red-eyed and already sporting a shock of white hair.

The last thing she says is, "He's beautiful."


	2. Christened on Tuesday

**This is set about five years on from Chapter One, at Ludwig's christening.**

The small boy's voice is loud in the reverent silence of the church. "Vati, why is Lutz in a dress?"

Most of the congregation turns round to stare at the white-haired child. His father, mortified, leans down and whispers in his ear, "Shh, Gilbert. That's a christening robe, not a dress. You wore one yourself once."

"It is too a dress! Why is he wearing it?" Gilbert demands, causing more heads to turn, and a few of the assembly to tut. "He looks so stupid and _girly_," he giggles to himself, oblivious to the effect he is having (although his father, now scarlet with embarrassment, is anything but). "Stupid girly Ludwig." Amused at his own wit, he begins a gleeful chant of, "My brother is a girly-girl, my brother is a girly-girl…", noisily kicking the heels of his best smart shoes against the underside of the pew by way of an accompaniment. Then he stops, remembering the rest of his father's answer, and fixes him with a piercing glare. "You're lying, Vati! The awesome me would never wear something so silly."

By now even the three adults by the font are looking at Gilbert – the mother with the baby in her arms, and the new godparents (a dark-haired, bearded man, looking uncomfortable in his formal suit, and a tall imposing woman with the thickest eyebrows Gilbert has ever seen). Only the vicar is still paying attention to the ceremony itself; the woman Gilbert calls Mutti is smiling tiredly over at her unruly stepson, Ludwig's godmother has her impressive brows knitted together and her lips pursed in disapproval, and although the man at her side is doing his best to look stern, he can't hide a grin.

Both godparents have their own families with them; the woman's four young sons are sitting on the pew next to Gilbert's, and behind them is the man's adult daughter with a baby and a chestnut-haired toddler. Gilbert eyes each of the other children with suspicion, especially the boy nearest to him, a child about half his age with green eyes, an untidy mop of blond hair and the same astounding eyebrows as his mother. Dressed in an immaculate miniature suit, he is sitting primly upright on the pew, and although his short legs dangle over the edge he appears not at all tempted to swing them.

Based on this damning evidence - and the even graver fact that, unlike most of the congregation, he has not once looked at his white-haired neighbour - Gilbert decides that it isn't worth trying to talk to him. His brothers, all closer to Gilbert in age, look inifinitely more interesting, but when Gilbert hops down from the pew to go and introduce himself he is quickly recaptured by his father, who lifts him onto his lap.

"Right, that's it, you're staying here." He struggles and kicks with all his might, but his father doesn't let go. "Sit still, Gilbert, _please_," he hisses. "Stop making such a fuss."

"But Vati, it's not _fair_," he wails. His father doesn't respond, and he sinks into a sulk. Why should he have to to sit on anyone's lap? He's not a baby, not like Ludwig, or those two on the next row back, sitting quietly on their mother's knee. He wriggles round so he can see them better. The younger of the two - who can't be that different in age from Ludwig - nestles against his mother, one tiny hand clamped firmly around her finger, and burbles happily to himself. His brother is at least a couple of years older, but Gilbert reckons he's still too young to talk to; in any case, his features are scrunched into a mighty frown, and he glowers back in response to Gilbert's inquisitive stare.

Confronted by such rudeness, there's clearly only one thing for Gilbert to do: he pulls the scariest face he can.

The results are gratifying; both boys immediately burst into loud sobs, and their mother has to busy herself quietening them down again.

Gilbert's father doesn't say anything, but he glances down at him warningly; Gilbert gives him his most angelic smile, as if to say that the bawling behind them couldn't _possibly_ be his fault, or in fact anything to do with him at all. Looking decidely unconvinced, however, his father tightens his grip so that Gilbert can't turn around.

Since he is pretty sure by now that no amount of struggling will improve his dire and humiliating situation (and besides, he has rather worn himself out already with his efforts in that direction) Gilbert can see only two options open to him, neither of them particularly enticing. He can either attempt to start a conversation with his bushy-browed neighbour, or surrender to the will of his diabolical captors and resign himself to watching the rest of the boring ceremony which revolves around his boring baby brother.

Gilbert opts for the former on the grounds that the blond boy might turn out to be interesting after all, whereas the christening ceremony shows no signs of improving - he hasn't seen a single sword or dragon or fight or _anything_. He squirms into a better position, leaning over his father's imprisoning arms towards the other child. "I'm Gilbert," he announces proudly. "What's your name?"

This time the younger boy does at least turn to look at him, but he does so with as much haughtiness as a not-yet-three-year-old can muster, and makes no reply.

The snub is too much for Gilbert, who - pride wounded deeply - turns back to his parent. "Vati - !" he begins, intending to describe at great length the insult he has just been dealt.

But he is cut off by his father, who murmurs, "Remember what I said about your christening robe, Gilbert? If you don't behave, I might just have to show everyone the photographs..."

_That_ finally shuts him up.


	3. Married on Wednesday

"Do you, Gilbert Beilschmidt, promise to love and honour this man through all the days of your lives, as long as you both shall live?"

Gilbert turns to look at the man beside him as if considering whether or not to agree, but they both know that he is pretending. _I'll definitely have to get him to wear a suit more often,_ he thinks, eyeing his companion appreciatively. He grins. "Hell yeah."

After a moment he realises the entire room has gone silent. He drags his gaze away from the other man, back to the officiant. "I mean, I do."

The officiant smiles as he continues, "And do you, Matthew Williams, promise to love and honour this man through all the days of your lives, as long as you both shall live?"

Beaming, Matthew answers immediately, "I do." His quiet voice is full of conviction.

"Gilbert and Matthew, I pronounce you married. If you so choose you may mark this moment with a kiss."

"Don't mind if I do," Gilbert says, and leans in. As their lips lock, there is an eruption of cheering from the back of the room, where their friends are sitting. A voice which is instantly recognisable as that of Gilbert's friend Antonio calls out, "Way to go, Gil!"

They break apart, faces a little flushed, regarding each other as if for the first time. Matthew's eyes are lit with wonder, and Gilbert can feel a ridiculous grin stretching across his own face. "You're beautiful, Gil, you know that?" Matthew murmurs.

Gilbert's cheeks burn, and for a second, standing there in front of everybody, the man who's never short of a witty retort or two is lost for words. Then he recovers.

"You're not so bad yourself," he grins, and pulls Matthew back into the kiss.


	4. Took Ill on Thursday

Matthew hums as he lets himself in. It's been a good day at the hospital where he's training as a nurse. "Gil, I'm home!" he calls, shutting the door. Thursdays are Gilbert's day off, so he's surprised when no voice answers. _Maybe_ _he's gone out._

But as he steps into the hall, shrugging off his coat, he registers the low murmur of the television, audible through the living room's closed door. He hangs up his coat and pokes his head into the room. "Gil?"

His husband is asleep on the sofa, pet budgie perched on his head. "Oh, hey, Gilbird," Matthew says softly. The little bird cheeps. Matthew turns to go, then leans over and kisses Gilbert on the forehead, gently so as not to wake him.

Gilbert stirs anyway, his crimson eyes fluttering open; when he sees Matthew his lips curve into an immediate grin. "Hey." Shooing Gilbird away, he moves to sit up – and pain flashes across his face.

"Gil? What's up?" Matthew is at his side straight away.

Gilbert shakes his head, smiling weakly. "Nothing. Everything's awesome." But though he tries to hide it Matthew can see him kneading his lower back.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Stop worrying, Mattie."

...

A few nights later Matthew wakes at three o'clock and realises that beside him the bed is cold. He gets up and pads downstairs, stomach heavy with dread.

Gilbert is curled up on the sofa, listlessly stroking the budgie. He clearly hasn't slept. As Matthew comes into the room he mutters blearily, "Couldn't sleep. Didn't wanna disturb you..."

"Gil, I'm not stupid. I know something's wrong. Please, just tell me what it is."

Gilbert looks away. "'S nothing. Back's just a little sore. Go back to bed, Mattie."

And – knowing the futility of arguing with Gilbert when his mind is set on something – Matthew does. But the next night it happens again.

The third time, Matthew insists on taking him to hospital.

...

It's a few weeks before the test results are back. Gilbert won't let Matthew go into the doctor's office with him, so he hovers outside, trying to stay calm.

When Gilbert re-emerges, the bottom drops out of Matthew's stomach as he registers the expression of total shock Gilbert is wearing.

Swallowing hard, he takes Gilbert by the shoulders, and – fighting to keep his voice even – asks, "How much time do we have left?"


	5. Worse on Friday

The doorbell rings; Matthew hurries to answer it. It's Gilbert's brother. "Oh, hi, Ludwig. Come in." He moves to let the taller man into the house.

Ludwig doesn't return the greeting, or thank him, as he steps into the hall; his only response is a terse smile. Matthew isn't offended – he knows it's only Ludwig's natural manner. Besides, they have more important things on their minds.

The German gets straight to the point. "How is he?"

Matthew looks away. "Not great. He's asleep right now, but go on up if you want. I'll leave you guys to it, okay?"

Nodding once, Ludwig pulls off his boots, then strides past him and up the stairs. Matthew calls, "Shall I bring you up some coffee?"

Although Ludwig grunts a reply in the affirmative, he's barely heard Matthew. He isn't here to chat, after all; he's only come for one thing, and that's to see his brother. He pushes open the bedroom door and goes in.

And stops in shock, because he wasn't prepared for this. _Scheiße._ _When he said 'Not great' I didn't think he meant…_

It isn't the tubes that surprise him; Matthew phoned to tell him how things were going after the last hospital appointment, so that isn't news. What brings him up short is his brother's obvious fragility, his frightening pallor. Gilbert has always been pale, but now his skin is the colour of paper, and he looks like he would tear just as easily. His eyes are deeply shadowed with exhaustion, and the dark shadows stand out starkly against the whiteness of his skin. He seems to have shrunk, too, as if the illness which is destroying his body is devouring him little by little; his frame has become as delicate as a bird's, and the bed dwarfs him.

Looking at him, Ludwig can barely believe that this is the same Gilbert he has always known. _Even last time he was... well, not normal, he hasn't been normal for weeks, but... For goodness' sake, he was sitting up in bed, making jokes like there was nothing wrong with him at all! And now..._

He moves over to his brother's bedside. Close up it is, if anything, worse; Gilbert is older than him by five years, but Ludwig suddenly feels like the parent of a sick child, desperate to protect him but helpless to do anything but watch.

_Mein Gott, Gil. They said six months, but at this rate... No, _he scolds himself harshly,_ pull yourself together. You know six months is the maximum. You always have done. There's nothing to stop it being six weeks..._

He is distracted from that thought by a movement beside him. Gilbert is awake.

"Hey, West," Gilbert croaks, using the childhood nickname whose origin neither of them can remember. "Long time... no see."

"What? I was here a week ago – "

Gilbert laughs – the same laugh as always – and Ludwig realises that he was joking.

_Good to know you're still in there, Gil._


	6. Died on Saturday

**A/N: Written with a little inspiration from an awesome friend of mine!**

Gilbert has a cough again; Matthew is fretting. He's banished Gilbird from the room, he's fiddled with the radiator and the bedclothes until the temperature's exactly right, and although the pillows have been plumped up umpteen times already, he adjusts them once more. "Sure you're comfortable?"

"Stop…fussing, grandma," Gilbert grins. "You really think…I'm going to let something…as unawesome as…a _cough_ do for me?" Exhausted by the effort of speech, he lets his eyes drift closed; he doesn't see Matthew shift uncomfortably at the mention of the subject he hates most.

After a few seconds he realises why his husband has fallen silent, and opens his eyes again. "Hey, cheer…up. It might…never happen," he says sleepily.

That's too much for Matthew. "How can you joke about it like it doesn't matter?" he whispers fiercely, the colour rising in his cheeks.

"Joke about what?" Gilbert asks innocently.

Matthew stares at the floor. "You _know_ what I mean."

"Joke about…what, Mattie?" No answer; he sighs. "Just…say it."

Trapped, Matthew stands there silently, praying that he'll let it go; but Gilbert has other ideas. Reaching out for Matthew's hand, he begins, "Soon, I'm –"

"Gil –" interrupts Matthew, his other hand already clasped to his ear. He struggles, but Gilbert's determined grip is surprisingly strong; he can't break away. Instead, he has to listen as Gilbert carries on.

"Soon, I'm…not gonna be…here any more. And it does…bother me. Of course…it does. But that…won't change…anything. I'll still…die," he says bluntly.

"Gil, _please –_"

Ignoring him, Gilbert continues, "So what's...the point in…moaning? That'd be…_boring._" His eyes flash mischievously; Matthew can't help laughing. He almost misses what Gilbert says next.

"That's…the other…reason."

Matthew looks at him, and Gilbert, embarrassed, refuses to meet his eyes as he mumbles, "I just wanted…to keep you smiling. Guess I…went about it the wrong way…" He gives a faint, rueful smile, a shadow of his usual grin. "'S no reason…for us both…to be in pain –"

He's cut off by a fit of coughing – harsh, hacking coughs which force him into a sitting position. Panic rises in Matthew's chest, but there's nothing he can do except kneel at his husband's side and support him with his one free hand as Gilbert convulses violently, agony distorting his face.

The coughs subside and Gilbert sinks back against the pillows, his breathing shallow and quick. "Shh, it's okay," Matthew murmurs, stroking his hair. "I'm here."

"Come…closer. I wanna…tell you…something," Gilbert gasps, face serious. Matthew leans in – then leaps back in shock when Gilbert nips him on the ear.

"Hey! What was that for?"

Gilbert chuckles. "Didn't I always…say you should…get your…ear pierced?" Then his expression becomes grave again. "I do actually…have something…to tell you, though."

Still nursing his injury, Matthew leans down again, only to hear, "The treasure's…buried…at…"

"Gil!" he exclaims, exasperated. "Be serious, would you?"

"If it's…_serious_ you wanted…you should have…married Ludwig." Matthew makes a face, and Gilbert laughs. "Anyway, Mattie…what I wanted…to say…was…" This time he manages to look Matthew in the eye. "I love you."

Matthew fights back tears. "I love you too, Gil."

"Will you…stay with me…tonight?" Gilbert asks.

"'Course I will," Matthew says quietly. Removing his glasses, he lies down next to Gilbert, his body curled carefully away from his husband's so as not to hurt him – but Gilbert pulls him in close, and touches his lips to Matthew's. Then he breaks away, and gently lays his head against Matthew's chest.

Perhaps they stay like that for hours – perhaps it is only minutes. But Matthew does not move again until Gilbert's breathing finally fades and his fluttering heart is still.


	7. Buried on Sunday

**A/N: Probably should have mentioned before now that I've been using a word limit - 100 words for the first chapter, 200 for the second and so on - which might explain the slightly odd pacing of some of the writing. Anyways, here's the last one - hope you enjoy it!**

Matthew sits hunched over on the uncomfortable pew, limbs drawn in close as if – by making himself as small as possible – he might be able to disappear entirely. It surprises him that he is still there; he feels leaf-light, barely anchored by the pressure of his feet on the wooden floor.

Others file in – some silent, some murmuring in hushed, respectful voices. "That's his husband," whispers a British voice Matthew dimly recognises as that of Ludwig's godmother. "The poor lad."

'His husband.' _Except I can't call myself that any more, can I?_ Matthew thinks bitterly, twisting his signet ring. _Now, I'm…I'm a widower._ The word seems strange, wrong; it's been over a week since Gilbert's death, but only now, hearing the phrase which no longer defines him, does he really understand. _Not even thirty, and I'm a widower. For God's sake, Gil – _

A hand falls gently on his shoulder, and he looks up to see Ludwig. Neither one says anything; the look which passes between them is enough to convey what trite words never could. Ludwig takes his hand away, and Matthew shifts across to let him sit down.

They're joined by Ludwig's parents; Matthew nods politely to them, not trusting himself to speak. The couple can only be in their sixties, but they seem to have aged decades since Matthew last saw them, Gerhart in particular. _Losing his first wife…and now his son…_ A wave of sympathy washes over Matthew.

But grief is selfish; before long that feeling has drained away, leaving Matthew stranded once more in his own pain. He forces himself to stare down at the floor, to watch the light from the stained glass colouring the parquet, and not to lift his head and look at the coffin. Somewhere Gilbert's friend Roderich is playing the piano, the undulating melody and soft but insistent bass speaking of rain and storms and broken things; somewhere someone is crying, and someone else is trying to comfort them. Matthew keeps his gaze trained on the ground. Whatever it takes, he has to keep it together.

When the church is full and the doors have been closed, the vicar strides to the front. 'We are gathered here today to celebrate the life and to mourn the passing of Gilbert, whose short stay of twenty-nine years was a blessing to us all…'

Immediately Gilbert's voice comes into Matthew's head. '_'Short stay'? What am I, a car park? But you've got the 'blessing' bit right…'_

Gilbert keeps up a running commentary as the vicar goes on. '_'Your being here is a tribute to his memory'? Not sure that's why Lovino's here – think he just got dragged along by Toni – but still, who wouldn't want to pay tribute to the awesome me?'_ By the time it's Matthew's turn to speak, a change has come over the Canadian. It's faint, so faint, but there's a smile haunting the corners of his mouth.

_'That's better, Mattie,'_ he can hear Gilbert saying. _'Didn't I tell you not to be sad?'_

For once in his life, he speaks with confidence; for once, everyone listens. "Gil wasn't always easy to get along with," he says. "In fact, he could be a right pain in the neck. But I loved him for it. We all did. Because, although he certainly had a quick temper, he was also quick to forgive, and quick to laugh. Sure, sometimes he may have been an arrogant so-and-so – but if he was the centre of his own world, he was the centre of mine, too, for five wonderful – five _awesome_ – years."

His breath hitches, and he pauses before continuing, quoting this time.

"He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last for ever – "

And here he stops again, looking round at the congregation. "I wasn't wrong," he says quietly. "Love doesn't die with us. Gil may not be here, but that doesn't mean I – we – have to stop loving him."

As he sits down again, shaking a little, he hears Gilbert's voice in his ear one last time. _'Well said, Mattie. Well said.'_

**A/N: Well, what did you think? It turned out a little differently from how I was expecting it to, but I suppose that's Gilbert for you.**

**Thanks to everyone who's read this far, especially if you've left a review! I really appreciate it. Oh, and I was thinking of expanding some of the chapters, since the word count was only there to make sure I finished each one. Would anyone actually be interested in reading that?**


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